Winner Takes All
by Madman With a Pen
Summary: With the future of the criminal world resting on a game of Poker in a high-end Monte Carlo casino, Bond must enter a battle of wits with nine of the world's deadliest criminals. Modern Bond novel. Some inspiration from Casino Royale.
1. The Dark Figure

The broad, glistening black front of the Bentley swung smoothly into one of the many vacant parking spaces. Its tyres came to a gentle halt on the tarmac as the roar of its engine died away into the near silence of the evening. The only sounds were those faint whispers that drifted gently into the cold air from within the grand architecture of the casino that stood, vast and imposing, over the car park. Light from the building's tall, narrow windows was reflected in the bodies of expensive cars, artistic shadows being cast by the leaves of neatly-trimmed hedges that decorated the area. There was no outdoor lighting other than the two lamps, one on either side of the casino's entrance, and so the cold light of the stars was plainly visible in the inky black canvas of the sky.

With a soft 'click', the door of the Bentley was opened and a dark figure stepped out. He wore a formal dinner suit and his face, which remained hidden in the shadows, had a scar running down the right cheek. His black hair was neat and would have been perfectly so was it not for the small lock that formed a comma above his right eyebrow. He shut the door of his car and then remained still for a moment, feeling the chill of the air wash over his skin. His unseen gaze darted across the car park before coming to rest on the casino. He took a single deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, and then walked with a soldier's quick pace towards the impressive building.

As he mounted the steps that led to mahogany double doors, the light from the twin lamps hit his face, illuminating his sharp features and revealing cold grey-blue eyes. Pushing the doors open and striding into the entrance hall, he was bathed in the warm orange glow that filled the casino. With a small nod to the receptionist he made his way onward, down the narrow corridor that took him to the metal detector. A stout, bald security guard dressed in a grey suit and tie was stood by the side of the rectangular metal doorway. He took the man's keys, watch and wallet as he walked through. The machine gave the dull, quiet bleep and green light that meant it was safe. With a smile and a nod, the man took his possessions back. As he slipped his wallet into his inside pocket, the back of his hand brushed against the holster of the Walther PPK firearm that the metal detector had failed to notice.

Continuing down the corridor, he emerged into the main casino. The walls were a deep ruby-red with gold furnishings on every corner, pillar and fixture. Thick carmine curtains, drawn back, marked the separations between public and private gambling areas. There was an air of romanticism to the vast room's architecture – a feeling not reflected on a single face at any of the varying tables. A bar, lit with a blue neon glow, ran along the nearest wall of the casino and was the only area not dedicated to some form of gambling. Quickly observing all these details, the man strode from the doorway to the far end, where the long poker table sat waiting. A large, stony-faced group was already gathered in the area, a croupier stood with them by the velvet rope that currently separated them from the table. He was the one the man approached.

"Good evening. I'm here for tonight's game."

"Good to see you, _monsieur_." said the croupier with the smallest of smiles. He picked up a leather clipboard with a list of the players' names attached to it. "I'll need to check you are on the list. Name?"

"Bond – James Bond."


	2. High Stakes

Bond's steel-like gaze passed over the other players. They all remained silent as they stood and waited for the croupier to announce the beginning of the game. Some had associates with them who would be watching play proceed – associates who looked like they may be prepared to remove opponents with the potential to win. The stakes were high, higher than Bond had ever played with before, and none of these people were prepared to lose.

"Good luck in there." an American voice whispered in Bond's ear. He turned to see a tall man with grey eyes and straw-coloured hair stood beside him – Felix Leiter, a CIA agent Bond had worked with in the past.

"Thank you." said Bond. "Are your people in here?"

"Yeah, yeah, they're here." Leiter explained. "We've got eyes everywhere, looking out for any signs of trouble. Something goes wrong, they move in."

"I know you Americans have a tendency to be a little… trigger-happy," Bond said, trying to choose his words carefully, "but don't do anything unless we have a definite situation. We don't want what little cover we still have being compromised. Remember, we've not got much evidence against any of these people and our best bet is to let play continue until there's a winner. If I don't win, then we plan our next move."

"Roger that. You clear on your mission details?"

"Yes. Perfectly." said Bond, remembering the briefing he had received a week ago. He had been staying in a holiday home in Jamaica when the call came from headquarters. Hours later he had found himself in M's office sat in front of the broad oak desk, his boss's cold gaze bearing into him.

"_You're the best gambler we've got, Bond. You've proved that well enough in the past and the outcome of this game could have the most significant impact on the world of organised crime we've seen in over a century."_

_Bond had been rushed to this meeting with such urgency he had not been given a chance to look over any dossiers or files on the nature of the proposed mission. He listened to M now with sharp intent._

"_How?" he asked. "Who's playing? What are the stakes?"_

"_The stakes, Bond," said M, leaning back in his chair, "are higher than even you will be used to. Thirty billion pounds to play for, along with ownership of a global criminal organisation."_

_Bond leaned forwards, his eyebrows raised, his expression hardening._

"_What?"_

"_Sebastian Delacroix, the owner of Casino Diamant in Monte Carlo, has died and left his fortune to a game of Texas Hold 'Em Poker being held there in a week. Delacroix was a rebellious sort and it's believed he had dreamt of a criminal organisation larger than any form of official government. A super-power that rivalled the law. He had dealt with several major criminal organisations and, in his will, invited ten heavily influential crime bosses to the game that's been arranged in his memory. The players are to have their own funds, and the additional thirty billion will be shared out amongst them. The winner is also entitled to ownership of all of Delacroix's businesses – including the global network of crime he had funded and led."_

_Bond sat silently for a moment, considering the facts that had been laid before him. He knew he was probably the best man for this job and had already decided he would take the mission. He had only one question for M._

"_If the players have already been chosen, how do I get onto the guest list?"_

"_One eventuality Delacroix didn't cover was if a player could not attend. If one of the players were to disappear, there would be an open space at the table for any other associates of Mr Delacroix. I believe you crossed paths with him on a previous assignment."_

_Bond had indeed encountered Delacroix once before – the mission had been to protect him from an assassination attempt. It was only after the threat had been removed that Delacroix's criminal nature was discovered._

"_Which player won't be attending?" Bond asked._

"_We believe we have enough evidence to authorise the elimination of Mr Damien Steele – and the resources to remove any questions about his death, which I think should occur tomorrow at one o'clock in room one-four-five of the Golds Hotel."_

_M slowly nodded his head at Bond, who gave a short, curt reply._

"_Understood."_

"If the players would like to take their seats," the croupier announced, "the game will begin shortly."

The velvet rope was lifted and the ten players moved forwards, towards their allocated seats. A small crowd quickly started to appear on the other side of the railing surrounding the poker table. Amongst the many unfamiliar faces, Bond saw Leiter watching, an edge of concern to his features. His slanted catlike eyes were restless, glancing over the crowd. Bond guessed there were some CIA, maybe even MI6, allies stood there that Leiter was checking on. He also guessed there would be a lot more enemies stood around the table than friends – not that it mattered. Until the game ended, this was all Bond needed to focus on.

Poker was not a game of chance or a game where the man with the best hand wins. It was a game of skill and a battle of wits. Bond was not playing against the cards or the odds – he was playing against the nine opponents who surrounded him. At this table, for as long as it took for one man to win everything, the status and power of these people meant nothing. All that counted now was how far they were willing to go, how much of a risk they would take and who had the ability to force everyone else into defeat.

Bond removed his cigarette case from his inside pocket, along with a sleek black lighter and placed them next to him on the table. Flipping the case open, he slid a cigarette free and, clasping it between his middle and index fingers, placed it between his lips before lighting it. As he leant back in the soft chair and laid his arms on the table in front of him, the small blind and big blind were placed. The croupier went round the table twice, dealing the hole cards to each player. As soon as Bond's second card had landed in the space between his arms, he took the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in the crystal ash tray next to him.

The game had begun.


	3. Luxure

Bond cupped his left hand around the two playing cards in front of him and lifted the tops of them with his right. A pair of nines. It was a strong enough start – whatever cards came up now, he was at least guaranteed a pair, the only certain guarantee that could ever be drawn from the hole cards alone. He looked up, his gaze scraping briefly with that of the man sat opposite him – Quentin Schaal. He was a representative of SPECTRE and possibly the most powerful man sat at the table. His skin was pale, his short black hair swept back from the temples. He had dark, searching eyes with a piercing stare and shark-like features. Bond quickly glanced over him, taking in his sinisterly minimal body language, before allowing himself to look towards the spectators.

His eyes came to rest on a slender young woman who was stood a little distance from the railing. Her silky brunette hair hung just past her shoulders and glistened in the warm glow of the casino. Her dark eyelashes fluttered slightly as she gave Bond a slow wink, her rose-coloured lips curling into a delicate smile. She had beautiful dark eyes that would have left most men lost for words. Bond had made her acquaintance the previous night…

_The door to the hotel room was flung open, casting a long rectangle of light upon the darkness. Suddenly, pushed into the pool of light on the carpet, was the young woman wearing a short black dress and high-heeled shoes that she quickly slipped her aching feet out of. Swiftly following her through the doorway was the robust figure of Quentin Schaal, clad in a pale grey suit and black shirt._

"_Get on the bed." he demanded in a sharp, direct voice. The girl, trembling, her lips parted slightly, did as he said. Schaal pushed the door shut, plunging the room into absolute darkness, save for the distant glow of streetlights beyond the window. He unbuttoned his jacket, throwing it to the floor, and then turned to the dressing table at his right, where a small ornate lamp was sat. His fingers fumbled at its long, artistically sculpted stem, before finding the switch. The instant he had turned it on, a cold metallic object was pressed into the back of his neck._

"_Hands up. No sudden movements," said Bond, stepping out from where he had been hidden behind the door. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this gun is silenced and I will use it if you try anything."_

"_Who… who are you?" Schaal stammered, raising his hands._

"_You'll see me tomorrow at the Poker table, so long as you don't make me blow your brains out now."_

"_What are you doing in my room?"_

"_If I told you that, I really wouldn't be very good at my job."_

"_Your job? What do you mean? Who do you work for?"_

"_Someone who is very eager SPECTRE does not end up with an additional thirty billion pounds in their bank account. And we are willing to do a lot to ensure that doesn't happen."_

"_You don't frighten me."_

"_We'll see about that tomorrow night." Bond stated firmly. "Now, get out."_

"_This is my room!"_

"_And this is my gun, so I suggest you do as I say."_

_With stiff reluctance in his movements, Schaal reached for the door handle and let himself out. Stepping into the corridor and turning back round, he caught only a fleeting glimpse of Bond's face, as he slammed the door shut again._

_Bond wasted no time sliding the lock on the door into place and barricading it shut by jamming one of the room's chairs under the handle. Only then did he slide the PPK back into its holster under his jacket and turn to the girl who was still lying on the bed, propped up on her elbows._

"_We need to get out." he told her._

"_Blocking the door doesn't tend to help…"_

"_Schaal's still out there and he'll be sending for backup." Bond explained. "I'd say we've got less than two minutes before they arrive."_

"_What makes you think I'll go with you?"_

"_Well, I can't see you wanting to stay with him."_

_Bond quickly went to the window and flung it open. Sticking his head out, he looked up and down the building._

"_My room's directly below. The window's open, we can get in through that."_

"_So all we have to do is climb down the building…"_

"_Don't worry," said Bond, pulling his phone out of his pocket, "I've got an app for that."_

_His fingers dashed over a few icons on the phone's screen and the back of the casing flipped open, revealing a small grappling hook, folded flat, connected to the phone with a length of coiled wire. Leaning out of the window and aiming it upwards, Bond pressed the button on the bottom of the phone, sending the grappling hook sailing up and into a thin ledge higher on the hotel wall._

"_Grab on!"_

_The girl ran over to him, wrapping her arms tightly around him from behind. As soon as she did so, a heavy banging noise came from the other side of the door. Schaal's friends had arrived._

"_You sure that wire can support our weight?"_

"_Perfectly sure. Q Branch hasn't let me down yet."_

_The girl still clinging to his back, Bond stepped onto the windowsill, facing into the room. He used a clip on the phone to secure it to his belt. The girl's legs were suddenly wrapped around him, preventing her from slipping and falling the long distance to the dark street below._

"_What's your name?" Bond asked._

"_Katrina Luxure."_

"_Pleasure to meet you, Katrina Luxure. Mine's James Bond."_

_With a firm kick against the surface he was perched on, Bond sent the two of them soaring through the cold night air. For the moment they were in free-fall, he felt Katrina's grip tightening on him, her slight arms wrapped around his chest, her legs pressing against his. Bond would have found the experience a pleasurable one, but the task currently at hand was demanding all his concentration. He threw his weight forward just as they came into line with the top of his room's open window. Slanting down through the air, they swung perfectly through the open space and landed on the soft red carpet. Katrina freed herself from Bond's back, as he unclipped the phone from his belt, and reeled the grappling hook back in._

"_Where did you get that thing?" Katrina asked in a breathless voice._

"_It's a work phone." said Bond, slipping it back into his pocket. "No, wait!"_

_Katrina had started to run for the door. She stopped at Bond's words._

"_They'll have gotten into the room above by now," she said, "it won't take them long to work out where we are!"_

"_Look." Bond was pointing to the door – a metallic cylinder was fastened to its surface, just beneath the handle. "Stand back."_

_It didn't take long. The thundering footsteps sounded out from within the hallway, coming to a halt at Bond's door. With a strong 'thud', the door was forced open. As soon as it moved, there was a bright white flash, accompanied by a deafening bang. This quickly faded, to make way for the cloud of smoke that erupted from the two halves of the cylinder. From within this sudden fog, there emerged two square-framed men, who both fell flat on the ground._

"_Are they…" Katrina began and Bond placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder._

"_Dead? No. Just unconscious."_

_After his long experience in the Secret Service, it didn't take Bond long to hide the two thugs in a caretaker's cupboard. After he had ensured they were safely stashed away, he returned to the bedroom with Katrina. Before he turned his attention to her, he locked the door and removed his jacket, tie and gun holster._

"_Is there a reason you brought me here, Mr Bond?" Katrina asked him. "Is there something I can help you with?"_

"_Call me James. And, since you mention it, yes there is. Any information you can give me on Quentin Schaal that may be of use against him in the Poker game tomorrow night."_

"_I'm afraid I don't know much about Poker…" She seemed to hesitate, before making up her mind on revealing any more to Bond. "But I might be able to get you some information on the account his winnings would be going into."_

"_That could be useful… what exactly is your relation to Schaal?"_

"_Officially, I'm one of his less-important secretaries," she explained, "but, unofficially, I'm more like his plaything."_

"_Well, I can't possibly let that continue." Bond said quietly, stepping towards Katrina. He gently took her hands in his. "I can assure you, after tomorrow, Schaal will no longer be a problem for you."_

"_Without him, I have no job."_

"_I know some people who can help you there."_

_Katrina looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting the pale blue of Bond's. She remained still for a moment, staring into the handsome face._

"_Thank you," she whispered eventually and slowly brought her face towards his. Bond matched her motion, bowing his head down slightly, until their lips met. As they kissed, their eyes closed, they fell into each other's embrace. Pulling Bond closer with one hand, Katrina used the other to unbutton his shirt and brush it from his torso. Bond then ran his hand down the zip on her back, and Katrina's small dress dropped to the floor. Gradually, the two of them lay down on the double bed, their bodies pressing against each other, and they allowed their sudden desire to take control._


	4. The Game Is Poker

The first round of betting started with the player to the left of the dealer announcing "Check" in a heavy Russian accent. The check went around the table, until it reached Schaal. He cast a cold glance towards Bond. The two were sat directly opposite each other, with three players between them in the order of play – they each had a man sat beside them and between these men was sat a tall, slim woman of about thirty on the end of the table. Schaal ran his thin tongue over his pale lips, before pushing several plastic plaques forward, making his bet.

"One billion."

There was a quiet murmur of excitement from the spectators. The next two players tossed their cards, face down, into the centre of the table, indicating they had folded. The man sat next to Bond waited a moment, considering the bet. He was a bald, dark skinned man of the same build as Bond and his gaze was locked with Schaal's. There was calmness in the man's eyes, but it was a calm that seemingly concealed a violent storm.

After a few frozen seconds, he pushed his own pile of plaques forward.

"Call."

The bet came to Bond. If he wanted to stay in play for this hand, he would have to match the billion pound bets already made. His eyes flicked briefly to Felix, beyond the railing surrounding the players, and then to Katrina, before coming to a rest on Schaal. Bond picked up one of the plaques in front of him, worth more than any of the round chips that sat in neat piles, and twirled it in his fingers, deciding on his next move…

_Bond and Katrina were sat in the breakfast hall as the late morning sun beat lazily through the windows. Katrina had assured Bond that Schaal would have already left the hotel – he apparently preferred to spend the day in the casino before a big game._

_The two of them were sat in a small, secluded corner of the vast dining area, which was lit by veils of pale sunlight falling through the French windows. Katrina took a sip of coffee and then leaned forwards, her elbows resting on the soft white table cloth._

"_So, tell me more about the game – Poker, I mean. I've never really been involved in playing – just managing Schaal's winnings."_

"_You've never played?" inquired Bond, which was met with a small shake of the head from Katrina. "It's a simple enough game once you know the hand rankings. The challenge is in understanding your opponents."_

"_So it's not a simple game of chance?"_

"_No," said Bond, leaning forwards in his chair. "In Poker you're never playing your cards – you're playing the man sat opposite you. It's a game where the brave win."_

"_How does it work though?" asked Katrina, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of knowledge that had been kept from her. "Explain the rules!"_

"_Every player is dealt two cards, called the hole cards," said Bond, interest audible in his voice. "The first round of betting follows. Then the Flop is dealt – three cards, face up in the middle of the table – followed by another round of betting. There are two more cards dealt – the Turn and the River – each followed by a round of bets. The idea is to make the best five-card hand you can, using your two cards and the five on the table. The best hand is a Royal Flush – all the face cards, the ace and the ten all of the same suit – and the rankings go down to a pair or a high card."_

"_And how does the betting work?" asked Katrina, apparently infected by Bond's interest for the game._

"_The first person to bet can either bet or check, which means place no bet. The next player has to match the bet if one has been made, raise the bet, or fold – forfeit the hand. A round of betting ends when one bet has gone around the whole table. The betting is where bluffing comes in."_

"_Bluffing?"_

"_If you have a weak hand," explained Bond, "you don't want to let other players know that. If you bet high enough, they might not want to take the risk and they'll fold. On the other hand, they might suspect you're bluffing and continue to raise the bet to try to force you into folding. You need to be able to tell if you're opponents' bets are genuine – like I said, you're playing the man sat opposite you."_

"_It certainly sounds like a challenge…" said Katrina, sitting back and bringing her coffee cup to her lips. "I wish you the best of luck, James."_

"_Thank you," said Bond and took a long gulp of coffee from his own mug._

"_I hope you realise, you will be facing a tough opponent." There was a note of genuine concern in Katrina's voice. "Schaal is emotionless and he won't back down from a fight. Fear is a foreign concept to him."_

"_Didn't seem that way when I had a gun pointed at him last night." Bond commented casually._

"_In a casino, he's a different man. I've seen him, in the games he plays, and you would not believe he's the same person who lives only for pleasure in his personal life. He shows no mercy, no sign of anything other than a harsh, mechanical need to win."_

_A small smile touched Bond's lips._

"_Then I look forward to the challenge – but I believe he has met his match."_

"Call." said Bond, putting forwards a collection of plaques worth the billion pounds.

The bet went around the table, one more player folding, but everyone else matching the billion.

The dealer drew the next three cards from the top of the deck, sliding them across the green velvet table top with a swift, almost mechanical movement of his hand. Two sevens and a three.

A smaller amount went around the table this time, a bet of one hundred million making its way to Schaal, a few more players folding. Bond had never played with such high amounts and believed neither had most of the other players. Normally nobody would be mad enough to risk so much money, but this time most of it wasn't their own. And there was more than money at risk…

"Raise – five hundred million." Schaal announced.

Another murmur from the crowd. The man next to Bond matched the bet, but Bond took little notice – his gaze was locked with Schaal's. Both wore icy, expressionless glances, staring deep into their opponent. Each dared the other to go further, to call their bluff.

Neither would give in.

"The bet is five hundred million," the dealer announced.

Bond waited, perfectly motionless for a moment.

Then he decided.

"Raise – Seven hundred and fifty million."

He pushed a pile of plaques and two towers of chips forwards. The next two players matched the bet. It came back to Schaal.

"Call."

The man between them followed suit.

The two sevens had been good news – Bond was now guaranteed two pairs as a minimum. But that wasn't to say there wasn't someone sat, still in play, with a better hand than him. Another nine or seven on the table now would get him a full house – three of a kind and a pair – and increase his odds of winning as much as possible.

The dealer placed down the next card. The Turn.

A five.

Useless. But perhaps not to one of Bond's opponents. He would keep betting though, keep giving the impression he was confident of victory and hope that nobody thought he was bluffing.

Another fold, followed by a bet of one billion from a small man with a face like a rat. There was an aura of confidence in his eyes, though Bond suspected it may be an act. He was putting in most of his money, but it could have been a false show of bravery to convince the others he had a strong hand. It would have been a dangerous tactic, but possibly an effective one.

The bet came to Schaal.

"Raise – one point five billion."

"Call." said the man next to Bond, following his now concrete routine.

Bond was silent for a moment, considering.

"One point five billion to call." said the dealer, calmly.

"Call." Bond conceded, pushing the amount forward.

The man who had placed the one billion pound bet matched the raise.

The last card – the River – was dealt.

A nine.

Bond kept himself frozen, allowing no reaction to show. But he knew he was now in a much more powerful position. Saved at the last minute.

The rat-faced man gave a small, wry smile.

"All in."

He pushed all of the remaining chips and plaques in front of him forwards. A gasp came from the spectators. The move was an unexpected one so early in the game. But if he had been hoping to scare the other players, it didn't seem to work.

"The bet is seven hundred and fifty million," the dealer announced, checking the amount that had been placed.

Schaal smiled. He had a lot more money to play with, but wasn't about to waste it all in the first round.

"Call." he said calmly.

"Call." said the man next to Bond.

The idea of raising the bet crossed Bond's mind. He was fairly confident now. But there was still a chance another player had a better hand. He considered for a moment – each remaining player had put in four billion now and that would put a dent in any of their accounts. And that wasn't to mention the varying amounts put in by other players who had forfeited.

"Call." said Bond finally, his voice a level, emotionless sound.

The rat-faced man suddenly looked very nervous. He turned his cards over. Two threes.

"Full house – threes full of sevens." the dealer said.

Schaal smiled, flipped his cards over. A seven and a five.

"Higher full house – sevens full of fives."

Schaal gave a low, empty laugh. The small man who had made the previous hand looked shattered.

The man next to Bond threw his cards face down into the centre of the table, indicating a fold – he had not beaten Schaal's hand. All attention came to Bond.

He waited a moment, eyes locked with Schaal's. The two were trapped in psychological combat, each grappling for the edge over the other.

Bond turned his cards over.

"Higher full house," the dealer said. Something went out in Schaal's cold eyes. "Nines full of sevens. Mr Bond wins."

The large pile of chips and plaques was swept over to Bond, whose reaction was nothing more than a small nod to the dealer.

Schaal's pale hand slithered into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a fat cigar. He clamped it between his teeth and lit it with a gunmetal grey lighter. Mirroring him, Bond picked up his own cigarette from the case that sat beside him, letting it sit lightly in his mouth, and lit it with a soft click of his own lighter.

Through the thin veil of smoke that drifted between them, Bond's and Schaal's warring gazes remained fiercely interlocked.


	5. Men Of War

Bond's next two hole cards landed face down in front of him. With a final sharp inhale, he stubbed the cigarette out in the ash tray beside him and blew a long stream of smoke past his lips. A few players were sitting this round out, some possibly recovering from their losses in the previous round, some probably just indulging their drinking habits at the bar. Bond and Schaal remained fixed in their seats, as did the man next to Bond and the woman at the end of the table.

Bond checked his cards – the two of hearts and six of clubs. Not a strong start, but he didn't know what cards would come up yet. And he was still currently the wealthiest player.

The opening bet was a little higher this time, as was to be expected with less players and one round already being over. Now the real risks began.

Two billion was the first bet, placed by a woman with silky blonde hair and crimson lipstick. The next player – a largely built man, Bond knew to be a mob boss – immediately folded. Bond took note of that. The man's funds were clearly a little low and he wasn't a confident gambler.

The bet reached Schaal.

He was slow, considering for a moment. Bond thought for a second that he might raise the bet at this early a stage.

"Call." he said eventually, and the bet continued around the rest of the table.

The dealer laid out the next three cards – the Flop. Bond had to hope that somehow these would help improve his odds.

An eight, a ten and a Jack, all different suits. Useless.

The bet started at one billion. Schaal immediately raised it to one point five. The amount was unchanged when it reached Bond. He remained silent, still for a moment, considering his options. He was on the verge of defeat, the next two cards forming his last desperate hope. But he still had more than any other player. He could afford to take the risk and lose, but he couldn't afford to keep doing so throughout the game. He had to keep his losses to an absolute minimum, or he would stand no chance of completing his mission.

"What's the matter, Mr Bond?" asked Schaal, in a low whispering voice. "I do hope the stakes aren't too high for you. Perhaps you shouldn't be playing with real money yet."

"The stakes aren't a problem." said Bond, making up his mind, "I was just considering whether or not I should make them any higher."

"And will you?"

Bond pushed a pile of plaques and chips forward.

"Call." He gave Schaal a small smile. "I wouldn't want to be too harsh on you this early in the game."

He had committed himself to play now. He would have to see this round through, show he was not intimidated by Schaal.

The Turn was dealt.

The Four of Clubs. The card that represented changes for the worse in divination.

"Check." said the blonde-haired woman.

"Check." said Schaal.

This was good. Bond may not need to lose any more money on this round.

The woman on the end of the table checked too.

The man next to Bond did not.

"Five hundred million." he announced in his heavy African accent.

"Raise." Bond said quickly. He may not have been able to win, but he felt certain he could force more players out. "One billion."

He pushed the amount forward. The blonde-haired woman, to his surprise, matched the bet. So did Schaal. The tall, dark-haired woman on the end of the table folded and the man next to Bond matched the one billion.

The risk had helped very little. He had forced only one player out of the game and paid one billion pounds for it.

The dealer placed the last card on the table.

The ten of spades.

Another one billion pound bet went around the table. Again, it came to a pause at Schaal, who seemed to consider it very carefully, but seemingly decided against raising the amount.

After the final round of bets, the blonde woman delicately turned her cards over and slid them forwards – a ten and a seven.

"Three of a kind." the dealer stated, pushing the ten next to the two that were already on the table.

Schaal's face remained emotionless as he turned his cards over, one placed neatly on top of the other, so as to hide the lower card's face. The top card was a nine. Schaal pressed his fingers onto its white surface and slowly slid it aside. Bond had already guessed what he would see underneath – a Queen.

"Straight." said the dealer, pushing the four and one of the tens forwards and placing Schaal's nine and Queen within the row of cards. A perfect sequence was formed, from eight to Queen.

The man next to Bond threw his two cards, still face down, to the centre of the table. A fold. He had been defeated by Schaal.

Without letting a flicker of emotion show on his features, Bond did the same.

"Mr Schaal wins." the dealer announced, sliding the chips and plaques that had been put down as bets towards Schaal.

"I believe that puts me in the lead." Schaal said casually, with an undertone of aggression.

"I'll sit the next round out." Bond said, before shooting a short, sharp smile at Schaal and leaving the table. Behind him, a few others re-joined the game.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?" he heard Felix whisper in his ear, as his hand clamped on his shoulder. "Listen to me, James, you cannot let your over-sized ego blow this one up."

"What do you mean?"

"What were your cards in that round?"

"A two and a six."

"You should have folded on the Flop, anyone could tell you that! But Schaal taunted you into carrying on."

Bond brushed Felix's hand from his shoulder and started walking over to the bar.

"I had to keep betting, Felix. I needed to see what Schaal would do. Early rounds are important; I need to learn his tactics."

"Then why are you taking a break so early in the game?" Felix asked.

"I need a drink. I have just lost five and a half billion pounds, you know."

"You're going to end up a drunken mess if you need a drink after every loss." said Felix with a laugh. "Besides, overall you've gained money thanks to the first round."

"Doesn't matter." said Bond. "This isn't an ordinary game of Poker. It's not about me making some quick cash, I need to bankrupt all nine of these players."

"Well, you've already managed one."

"Schaal's winning, though."

"Yeah, and as soon as he beat you, you left the table." Felix's tone was becoming increasingly agitated. "This is making you look weak."

"Exactly." Bond snapped. "I'm not weak, he's not getting to me, but if I let him think he is I can use it against him. He'll become overconfident; I'll be able to trip him up. This isn't just a game of cards, it's psychological warfare."

They reached the bar and Bond immediately got the barman's attention. He had built up something of a skill for that.

"Can I get you something, _monsieur_?"

"Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred."

"Of course, _monsieur_." He turned to Felix. "Anything for you?"

"No thanks."

The barman went to prepare the martini and Bond turned back to Felix.

"The man who lost his money in the first round – who was he?" asked Bond.

"Salvador Montez. Spanish terrorist confederate. Clearly quite reckless."

"He just lost a lot of money – is that going to cause any problems? If it wasn't all his, he might have just made someone very angry."

"We've got people looking into it," Felix said. "He's still in the casino, so we can keep an eye on him for now."

"Good. If you could keep an eye on the game for me, I'd appreciate it. I'll find you again shortly."

Felix left the bar with a little reluctance, returning to the spectators' area around the Poker table. As the barman returned with his drink, Bond became aware of the female presence at his side. He thanked the barman before glancing to his side to see the blonde woman from the table.

"Hello. Mr Bond, isn't it?"

"Yes. And you are?"

"Sylvia Hayden." she said in her soft voice with a slight accent.

"American?" Bond enquired.

"Yes. You know, your tactics at the table were very brave. Or very foolish."

"Well, I've got a reputation for being both." Bond said with a smile. But Sylvia apparently wasn't in the mood for humour.

"You're trying to clean out Schaal."

"I'm trying to clean out everyone at that table." He took a long gulp of the martini before continuing. "You know how this game works – it's winner takes all."

"Well, if that's the case Mr Bond, I suggest you put aside whatever personal grudge you have with Schaal and focus on the bigger picture."

"What do you mean?"

"You two have been playing a big game of chicken the whole time. You're focussing on each other, but not the other players."

"Thanks for the tip." said Bond and downed what was left of his drink. "But I don't need advice from you."

"What's the matter? Scared of a woman's touch, Mr Bond?"

"Not at all," said Bond, turning to face her fully. "I welcome it in the right place."

"And where would the right place be?"

"I'm sure if you came to my hotel room later we could work it out. But it's certainly not in my professional life."

"Your career is in gambling?" Sylvia asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Risk-taking." Bond corrected her. "Excuse me."

Leaving the bar, he wandered back towards the table, coming to a stop where Katrina was stood.

"Enjoying the game?" he asked.

"Schaal's still winning."

"I thought he might be. Well, it's my job to put a stop to that."

"Then you'd better take your seat. The next round's about to start."

Bond turned to leave the spectators' area, when she grabbed onto his arm. He turned back to instantly find her lips being pressed against his. Closing his eyes, he embraced the kiss, accepting a moment of bliss before returning to his battlefield.

"Good luck." Katrina whispered as Bond stepped away.

"Thank you." he said, before making his way around the railing and over to his seat.

Slowly, he took his place in the chair, facing Schaal once again.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr Bond." Schaal said, sitting behind a substantially larger pile of plaques and chips. Bond noticed there were a couple more empty seats, with no chips or personal belongings waiting by them. Two more players who had lost all their funds to Schaal. Sylvia Hayden took her seat on the other side of the dealer again, her gaze flicking momentarily over to Bond.

The hole cards were dealt.

The round began.


	6. A Bloodstained Memory

_The sickly copper taste of blood filled Bond's mouth. His head rolled forwards with a soft crack from his neck and a trail of the thick red liquid dropped from his lips, slowly starting to run its course down his bare, battered chest. His bottom jaw was quivering uncontrollably and Bond only hoped it wasn't due to some major damage, though he could hardly blame it on the temperature. He was shirtless, his feet bare and his trousers ripped, but the room was filled with a heavy, damp heat that forced a veil of sweat over the open cuts, wounds and bruises that stood out on his pale skin. A mixture of blood and sweat had flattened his black hair, plastering it in unruly strands across his forehead. He was slowly clasping and unclasping his fingers, trying to keep the circulation going in his hands – the rope that bound them together was so tight it had sliced through skin, painting his palms with crimson spider webs. His feet were in much the same condition, the heels bruised from where they were crushed against the thick legs of the chair he had been bound to._

_The chair was a large, heavy thing made of roughly cut wood which pierced its way into Bond's skin. Its back was far too high for Bond to swing his hands over the top – they were bound behind it, anchoring him in place. Looking up into the room's dim red lights, Bond could just make out the silhouettes of the three men, two in smart black uniforms and one in a bright white suit minus the jacket, which hung from a boiler pipe a short distance away. The man's shirt clung to his sweating skin, yet he had not loosened his tie by the slightest amount and so it remained snugly nestled against his throat. Stepping forwards, he revealed his face in the burning red glow. He was Chinese with a long but muscular face. His thinning dark hair was greased back and streaked with grey. His fearsome scowl etched deep lines into his features._

"_Mr Bond, you have lied to me, killed my very valuable colleague and now you refuse to speak to me," the man said in a harsh whisper of a voice. "Do not make me ask you again – the details of Operation Storm Front, please. How do MI6 plan to stop me?"_

_Bond gave his captor a long steel-like stare, his icy blue-grey eyes fixed on the man in white. Then he leaned forwards as far as his restraints would allow and spat a mouthful of blood and saliva into the man's face. The white-suited man swore sharply under his breath, before turning to one of the other two men and barking orders at him in Mandarin. Bond's breathing grew heavy as he braced himself, knowing what was coming would not be pleasant._

_The darkly-suited man rushed forwards, rifle in his hands. He glared at Bond for a moment, who stared back, suppressing his fear. With one swift motion, the rifle butt was rammed into the side of Bond's head, forcing it aside with a dull 'crack'. Bond felt the crumpling of bone in the side of his head, sending a wave of agony crashing through his skull. A deep tortured scream broke through his lips, but he only heard it as a distant echo due to the heavy metallic ringing in his now-bloodied ear. Drawing in strained breaths through clenched teeth, Bond turned back in time to see the man raise the rifle again, the butt still aimed at him. This time it came crashing down to land between his forcibly opened legs. The result was terrifying._

_Bond's whole body convulsed, straining madly against the vice-like ropes that bit into his flesh. Sinews swelled up violently against the skin of his neck and he let out a strangled scream so loud that it was clearly audible even through his damaged left ear. The pain pounded and stabbed violently where the weapon had struck him, forcing the air from his lungs, causing his sweat-drenched chest to heave uncontrollably._

"_Don't keep me waiting, Mr Bond!" yelled the man in the white suit. "What are MI6's plans?"_

"_I'm not… telling you… anything… Feng!" It was a struggle for Bond to speak, but he just about managed it._

"_Very well, Mr Bond, we shall do this, as you English say, the hard way."_

_Feng retreated to the back of the room, into the darkness that lay beyond the fiery red glow of the lights. There was a faint metallic 'clang' and then he reappeared, holding a metal bucket in either hand, each with words Bond couldn't quite make out printed on their surface._

"_This bucket," he said, holding up the one in his right hand, "contains water. And this one," he held up the one in his left, "contains gasoline. I don't think I need to explain much more. If you tell us what we want to know, the water will be your reward, Mr Bond. If not, then we have no need to keep you alive."_

_The second black-uniformed man stepped forwards, taking the bucket of gasoline from Mr Feng. Bond looked up at the metal container as the man raised it above his head. Suddenly tipping the bucket, he drenched Bond's whole body in the clear liquid, taking particular care to cover his head and groin. Once the bucket was empty and Bond was soaked, the man threw the bucket aside and Feng stepped forward, drawing a box of matches from within his pocket._

"_Tell me what I want to know, Mr Bond, or I will burn off your face, your manhood and the vast majority of your skin."_

_Bond was silent._

"_NOW, Mr Bond…"_

_Bond looked up, meeting his gaze, but never saying a word._

"_Very well."_

_Feng slid the small cardboard container open, the scratching of the interior and exterior boxes the only noise in the vast boiler room, other than the soft hissing of the pipes that snaked their way back and forth overhead. Drawing out a single wooden match from amongst the others, Feng slid the box shut again and placed the match's red tip against the slim rough rectangle that ran along one face of the box._

_There was a short, sharp scratching noise as Feng scored the match along the surface. A near-silent crackle. A sudden burst of light that quickly settled into a small flame._

"_Last chance, Mr Bond."_

_Silence._

"_In that case, enjoy your own personal Hell."_

_The match, the small wooden stick with its illuminated golden tear drop at one end, crept ever closer to Bond. He leaned forwards. He spat._

_The small amount of gasoline he had caught in his mouth shot towards the match, ignited and came to rest on Feng's collar._

_The flames billowed up, quickly expanding, running along Feng's neck and the thin stubble that was sprawled across the bottom of his face. He screamed out, desperately clawing at the fire, trying to extinguish it, but succeeding only in burning the skin of his hands._

_One of the darkly dressed henchmen ran at Bond, bringing his rifle up. As his finger squeezed the trigger, Bond quickly used all the might he still had to swing himself as far sideways as possible. The bullets missed him by inches, instead blasting large holes into the chair's back. Long cracks started to splinter their way along the length of the wood. Bond saw his chance. He threw himself back, hard, sending the chair crashing to the metallic ground. The back shattered to pieces, many of which stabbed at Bond's back, drawing fresh blood. He ignored the pain – it was nothing compared to what he had already been through. One shard of wood was trapped between his back and his arms. Placing his hands on either side of the long, thin fragment, Bond pulled hard. The rope that served as handcuffs burnt and tore at his damaged skin. Again, Bond resisted the urge to give in to the pain and the rope eventually snapped against the wood._

_With his freed hands, Bond pushed himself back up. His feet were still tied to the bottom half of the chair, which he had just forced back into an upright position, but at least he could now stand. On his feet, the chair pushing into the back of his legs, Bond looked into the eyes of the stunned henchman who was still stood in front of him. Grabbing the barrel of the rifle, Bond pulled the man closer and greeted him with a fist to the jaw. The man fell to the ground, releasing his grip on his weapon. Bond used the rifle butt to smash what was left of the chair apart, breaking the front legs off. Pulling them out of the rope that linked them to his ankles, Bond advanced on the second henchman. The man was raising his gun, but Bond got there first, using the rifle to shoot the man down. He dropped, hitting the floor with an echoing thud and a blood-choked scream._

_Looking down at where Feng was screaming on the floor, flames still furiously burning away the skin of his neck and face, Bond picked up the bucket of water._

"_I suppose you want this?"_

_In answer, Feng raised a desperate hand, writhing desperately in an attempt to grab the bucket._

"_Unfortunately," said Bond, "I don't like walking around being highly flammable."_

_He lifted the bucket and emptied the contents over his own body, washing away the gasoline that had covered him. Then he grabbed Feng just below his ignited collar and dropped the bucket on top of his head, before slamming the rifle butt into it._

"_You know, I think I can hear footsteps upstairs, Mr Feng." said Bond calmly. "Operation Storm Front must have been a success. MI6 will be with you shortly."_

The huge, blackened scar still stained Mr Feng's neck and face. He was sat on the opposite side of the table to Bond, a few seats away from Schaal. A couple of rounds had passed and the stakes were growing ever higher. Players were folding more and more and Bond, Schaal and Feng were the only three players left in this round. Four cards were already on the table – two tens, a seven and a three. Bond glanced down at the two cards in front of him – a three and a Queen. He had a pair, but the odds were against him.

"One billion." announced Feng, making his bet.

"Call." said Schaal, putting forward the same amount.

"Call." said Bond quickly, not willing to look weak. He had to match their bets, to look like the player with the winning hand.

The fifth and final card was dealt on the table. The King of Diamonds. Bond's hand was not improved.

"Two billion." Feng said calmly, as though the matter was of no importance.

"Call." Schaal matched the bet again.

"Call." Bond pushed a few plaques forwards, matching the bet. Fifteen billion was in the pot – half the total amount of donated money.

Feng was first to turn his cards over – a ten and a King.

"Full house." the croupier announced. "Tens full of Kings."

Schaal folded. So did Bond. Both were defeated.

"Looks like you're taking quite a battering here, Mr Bond." said Feng, gathering his winnings.

"Mm. Well done, Mr Feng," said Bond in a polite, casual tone. "You're on fire."

He smiled a little at the glowering look Feng gave him.


	7. All In

A long, swirling trail of smoke ran through Bond's teeth and out into the air in front of him. He slowly stubbed the cigarette out in the crystal tray beside him, dropped it into the pile of ash and then cupped his left hand over the two cards in front of him, while lifting them with his right. Two aces. His face remained set like stone, not betraying the slightest sign of emotion at his sudden possession of the best possible hole cards.

A check went the whole way around the table. Bond matched it, deciding that betting now would only draw attention to himself and while some players may think he was bluffing, others may realise his advantage.

The soft, sharp sound of the three cards in the flop scratching against the deck was the only noise in the room. After each almost silent scraping sound there came the dull, light thud of a card placed on the velvet table top. A harsh silence surrounded this process, the eyes of every player glancing emptily into the three cards that were revealed – the two of clubs, the five of spades and the king of diamonds. The silence remained, as though nothing had happened at all, as though not one of the cards that had just been dealt meant anything to any of the players now around the table.

None of the cards helped Bond, but his high pair could still be enough. The bet came to Sylvia Hayden first.

"Five hundred million." A low bet – she was nervous. Or bluffing. Bond suspected the former, however – it would be difficult to form that strong a hand with the three cards that had just been dealt.

"Raise – two billion." said Feng, pushing the amount forwards in plastic plaques. Bond observed him carefully, but his face was a perfectly calm, emotionless mask. There was no way of telling if this was a bluff or not. Feng had a fairly substantial amount of money to play with and the two billion hardly put a dent in his funds.

"Call." said Schaal, matching the bet.

"Fold." The man sat next to Bond pushed his cards into the centre of the table. He was running low on chips and must have had a fairly poor hand.

"Call." said Bond, throwing two billion worth of plaques forwards.

"One point five billion to call, Miss Hayden." announced the dealer.

Sylvia Hayden remained very still for a moment, considering her options in utter silence. She then pushed forwards a large plastic plaque and a few chips.

"Call."

Another moment of silence. Everyone waited as the dealer placed the next card on the table – the seven of diamonds.

"Five billion – all in." Sylvia announced, placing the last of her chips in the centre of the table. It was a brave move – the others could match the five billion whilst maintaining some of their funds, but it seemed unlikely Sylvia was about to lose when she was showing such confidence.

Feng, Schaal and Bond each matched the bet. They may well have just agreed to partake in a round they couldn't win, but all of them could afford to play on if they were defeated now. It all came down to this final card.

The dealer pressed his hand against the top of the deck, sliding the card free from the others. In a swift motion that seemed to last an eternity, he slid it towards the centre of the table where it came to rest with the four cards already face up.

A pause.

The dealer took hold of the card.

He flipped it face-up.

The ace of spades.

Bond glanced back down at his own two cards – the two red aces stared brightly back at him, promising him three of a kind.

"Ten billion – all in." said Feng, pushing forward the last of his plaques and chips.

"Call." Schaal was winning and could match the ten billion whilst having twenty left to spare.

Bond also had only ten billion left. If he matched the bet now, it was all or nothing. The odds were in his favour – unless someone had a three and a four, there was no way he could lose. But he knew the odds could betray him. And yet, if he won, Feng and Sylvia were both cleaned out, leaving only Bond, Schaal and two others in the game.

"Call." said Bond. He knocked his pile of plaques and chips into the middle of the table, risking everything on this one bet.

In this round of betting alone, the entire donated thirty billion had been bet. The only thing keeping players in the game now was the additional funds that they had contributed themselves. These alone had come to a total of fifty billion.

Sylvia showed her cards – she had gone all in too early, betting everything on a fleeting chance, or perhaps trying to bluff her way to safety. She had a three and a six. Had a four come up instead of the ace she would have won. Instead, she had nothing. In that moment of revelation, she knew she had lost.

Feng revealed his cards – a king and an ace.

"Two pairs." announced the dealer. "Kings and aces."

Schaal folded – once again, his cards could not beat Feng's.

"Mr Bond?"

Bond picked his cards up and moved them slowly forwards, still face-down, ensuring they could be seen clearly. His hand halted. He turned them over and let them drop softly down to the green velvet cloth.

"Trip aces." said the dealer, placing the two aces next to the one on the table. "Mr Bond wins."

The full amount in the pot was slid towards Bond, replenishing his funds. Three players had just risked everything and Bond had come out on top, the other two now penniless.

"All the best, Miss Hayden." Said Bond as Sylvia stood up, a little stiffly, and left the table. Bond turned to Feng, who was suddenly paralysed with shock and disgust. "Sorry, Mr Feng – that's got to burn."

"You must forgive me, Mr Bond," said Feng with a slight quiver in his voice, "if I do not wish you the best of luck for the rest of your game."

And with that, Feng got to his feet and swiftly left the table.

"Shame," muttered Bond. "I thought we were getting on like a house on fire."

As Feng exited the roped off playing area, another player re-entered – a tall, slim, bald man in a grey suit. He took his place at the far end of the table, where his smaller pile of chips was waiting for him. Bond recognised the man as a former double-agent, who had once been identified within MI6, by the name of Vagason. Bond wasn't sure who he worked for now, but it was certainly no friend of the British government.

This was it. The final four. Bond, the man who had been beside him throughout the whole game, the former double, and Quentin Schaal. The ending was within sight.

Bond felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Felix Leiter stood behind him, a grim expression on his face. Bond raised a questioning eyebrow and Felix leant down, whispering in his ear.

"MI6 and the CIA have been after Feng ever since we lost him in Operation Storm Front. He's walking to the back door now; his people have a car waiting outside."

"So go and get him – I thought we had backup all over this place." Bond whispered in reply.

"We do, but his people are everywhere out the back – and there may be a possible hostage situation."

"Hostage?"

"Sylvia Hayden. She's from an organisation that have been offering Feng protection from his enemies – he just lost all his funds, can't afford to pay them anymore, so he takes one of them captive to try to blackmail them. But if her people realise how much she just lost them, it might not end well."

Two hole cards landed in front of Bond. He gave them a quick, cursory glance, before the bet of three billion reached him.

"Fold." he said and threw the cards forward. "I'll be back for the next round."

"I do hope, Mr Bond," said Schaal, in a slow and measured tone, "that the game isn't starting to wear you down."

"Of course not, Mr Schaal," said Bond. "I just thought I'd see if I can reserve my celebratory drinks now."

Without looking back, Bond strode away from the high table, walking past Katrina, whose expression turned to one of anxiety once she saw the concerned look on his features.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a hushed but panicked tone.

"Talk to me later," said Bond, carrying on past her.

He half-ran to the door at the back of the casino, which led to the elaborate dining area. His hand was inside his jacket, clasping the handle of his Walther PPK, ready for what lay beyond the broad double doors he was facing. With a short, sharp shove, he pushed his way through. Then he was running for the figures by the exit.


	8. Two Men In Dark Suits

Two of them. Both males, Chinese, powerful builds, dark dinner suits with long, formal silk ties. One of them had his hands clamped around Sylvia Hayden's arms as she squirmed, desperately trying to break free of the vice-like grip. They were dragging her towards the exit, Feng presumably waiting outside.

Bond ran across the room, sprinting down a straight route that ran through the sprawled mass of empty tables. His hand was suddenly out of his jacket, holding the PPK, aimed at the two men ahead of him. The one whose hands were free drew his own gun. It was a metallic monstrosity, certainly more powerful than Bond's but probably slower and less accurate.

There was a crash like thunder. Bond had ducked behind one of the tables, the bullet shattering a chair opposite him. He waited. Just a few seconds, to let their guard subside by the slightest amount. As soon as he heard the first slow footstep approaching him, he was up, gun pointed straight ahead. His finger quickly pulled on the trigger, releasing two shots into the man's arm, making him cry out in pain, his weapon releasing another explosion of a gunshot as he fell down. Bond ducked again, the shot scratching its way through the top of the table he took cover behind.

Then he was on his feet, walking over to the writhing figure of the man on the floor. Dark red stained his black dinner jacket, his face grotesquely contorted in agony. Bond looked down on this sorry figure, feeling nothing for him. He was the enemy, a man working with an organisation of terror and criminality. Bond simply could not afford to sympathise with such men in their moments of weakness.

It took only a single bullet to end his life.

Looking up, Bond saw the dining room was now empty. The other man had escaped with Sylvia. He leapt over the next table and bolted to the other side of the room, his arms pumping at a motor-like speed in synchronisation with his legs. He came to a sudden halt outside the door, quickly sweeping the area with his gun held out in front of him.

His gaze came to rest on the sleek black Mercedes sat in the narrow alley behind the casino. Feng was stood nervously by one side of it, his henchman on the other, attempting to force Sylvia Hayden into the backseat. Bond fired a single shot, the bullet whizzing past the man's shoulder.

All attention was suddenly on Bond. Feng pointed a quivering finger at him, calling out to the other man.

"Kill him, now! Kill Bond!"

The man threw Sylvia roughly to the cold pavement and drew his weapon, identical to the first man's gun. Bond hit the ground just before the shot was fired, blasting a crater straight through the door behind him. He leapt back to his feet, staying crouched, and charged at his assailant. Before the man could fire another shot, Bond had slammed into him, sending both of them to the floor. The man's gun made a loud rattling noise as it skittered away across the pavement.

Clamping his fist against the man's throat, Bond brought his own gun up, finger wrapping around the trigger. He was ready to fire when his target's hand slammed the PPK out of his grip. In the fraction of a second it took Bond to register the attack, the man had already landed a heavy left hook in his jaw. Collapsing to the pavement, Bond lost his grip on the henchman who was now back on his feet, towering above him.

An almost mechanical hand gripped Bond's collar and hoisted him up. The next blow smashed into Bond's stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. A backhand blow to the jaw followed, sending him back across the pavement and into the wall opposite the casino. Bond's vision blurred, becoming crowded with dark spots. He quickly blinked them away, just in time to see the man striding towards him. Bond got there first. His fist landed at the base of the man's ribcage, winding him, putting him off-guard. As he buckled forwards, Bond landed his next punch in the man's jaw. He felt the bone shifting under the collision, the slight cracking against his knuckles confirming his blow had fractured the man's jawbone.

The large, muscle-bound man reeled backwards, staggering to a stop a few feet away. Not wasting a second, he was charging forwards again, like a mad bull, heading for Bond.

Bond moved quickly. He ducked out of the way of the attack, running forwards and stepping around the assailant. He suddenly pivoted, positioning himself behind Feng's henchman and leaping onto his broad back. In a matter of seconds, Bond's arm was wrapped around the man's neck, his other arm locking the man's head in place.

The struggle was fierce. Flailing his thick arms, the henchman desperately tried to wrench Bond from his back. His oversized hands gripped onto the secret agent, tugging against him, but only succeeding in tightening Bond's hold. Bond's arms grew tighter and tighter around the man's head and throat, locking around him like a snake, pushing the air out of his windpipe, stopping him drawing breath.

The henchman's voice had turned into high, desperate, animalistic rasping, trying breathlessly to cry out, to scream in pain. Bond pushed the man's head forwards, pulled his Adam's apple back, crushing his throat as much as he could. The man's maddened movements, his arms writhing uncontrollably, his whole body shaking, became evermore violent. The fight was a bestial struggle for survival, Bond on the verge of destroying his prey.

The man fell to his knees and Bond found proper footing at last on the pavement. Slowly, the henchman's movements became smaller, weaker, his energy fading along with his life. His eyes rolled back, his arms fell limp at his sides and his whole body slumped. Bond let go. The lifeless husk hit the ground.

Walking quickly across the alley, Bond retrieved his Walter PPK from where it sat on the ground. He then turned to Feng.

"Mr Feng – the British government doesn't look too kindly on crime lords or men who take hostages."

"Then take me prisoner, Mr Bond. Send me to a secure facility, watch my men destroy yours and ultimately you will lose everything, while I walk away. My organisation-"

"Is long since dead. You're fooling no-one, Feng." Bond spoke levelly, a grim tone to his words. "You're all that's left."

"And with what evidence can you detain me, Mr Bond? Do you think I would have been foolish enough to allow any evidence of my activities to survive?"

"If we don't have the evidence to put you in a cell," Bond raised his weapon, "then how about the evidence to put you in a coffin?"

One shot, between the eyes. Feng dropped to the ground.

Bond turned to Sylvia, who was still lying uncomfortably sprawled on the ground. Helping her up, he guided her towards Feng's empty car.

"Here, sit down. You're probably going to be in shock, you'll need to rest."

"Me?" she said, taking a seat in the back of the vehicle, "What about you?"

"I'm all right. I've had more than my fair share of close encounters before." said Bond.

"Would you care for one more, Mr Bond?" she whispered in her luscious, silken tones.

"I need to get back to the poker table immediately and finish this game."

"When do you need to be back?" she asked, her lips delicately brushing Bond's ear.

"Immediately."

Sylvia slid herself further along the backseat, tugging gently at Bond's collar, encouraging him to join her.

"When?"

"Almost immediately."

Obliging, Bond lowered himself into the car, his hands gripping at the leather of the seats as Sylvia Hayden's arms wrapped around him, one resting on his neck, the other on his back. Bond allowed himself to be pulled into the embrace, his lips meeting hers as she slowly pulled him closer. Her makeup coated touch was soft, like satin, gently caressing Bond's lips.

As he kissed her he felt her hand slide down to his collar, her slim fingers nimbly undoing his bowtie and then the first few buttons of his shirt. She slipped her slender hand beneath the fabric, her palm brushing in smooth, swift motions across his chest. Her other arm moved away from his body as she slowly pushed away her sleek black dress. She had soon unveiled her body entirely to Bond, her arms clinging tightly to him, her legs intertwined with his and both their mouths pressed firmly together.

Felix Leiter was stood in the spectators' area, watching the game of poker progress, when James Bond approached him, dressed immaculately as he always was. At least when he was in public.

"Well?" asked Felix.

"You'll find Feng and his friends in a dumpster just out the back. Miss Sylvia Hayden you will find naked, tied up with her own dress, in the backseat of a black Mercedes." Bond handed Leiter a set of keys. "When this mission's over, remind me to thank Q Branch for the PPK. If I hadn't gotten that through the metal detector this night could have gone very differently."

"Just get back in there and finish this lot off, James. And be careful – we just found out the guy who's been sat next to you throughout the game is Karl Jono, in charge of a violent, powerful drug ring. He has a whole bunch of operatives in here with him and he is not prepared to give up all that money."

"So if I win, I get shot. That adds a new dynamic."

Bond left Leiter and retook his seat at the table as the next round began.

"Nice to see you back, Mr Bond." Schaal commented dryly. "I do hope your break was refreshing enough for you."

"It certainly was, Mr Schaal. I just wanted to make sure Miss Hayden and Mr Feng got a proper send-off." said Bond.

Four piles of chips and plaques, Bond's and Schaal's the biggest. A deadly double-agent, a vicious drugs baron and a SPECTRE representative. Bond knew this was it. The final round. The fight to the death.

All or nothing.


	9. Into The Fire

The quick snapping motion of the dealer's hand as he dispensed the hole cards seemed somewhat slower than before, as though he too felt the full weight of the moment. One card landed softly and neatly before each of the four players. All sat motionless. There was the slightest of pauses and then each player received their second card.

James Bond placed his hand on top of his cards and pulled them towards himself. It was not until the last moment that he let his gaze drop from the ice-cold stare of Quentin Schaal and to the two pink rectangles that sat before him. He cupped his left hand around the cards and, just enough to reveal the ranks and suits to himself, lifted them with his right. Bond took a quick mental note of his cards, fixing them in his mind and resolving not to look back at them for the rest of the round.

The first round of betting began with Vagason. As the former double-agent looked up from his cards, Bond noticed a somewhat skeletal quality to his appearance – the sunken eyes, the hollow cheeks, the too-pale skin stretched tight over the bald head. The man's thin lips parted, revealing two rows of small, sharp, off-white teeth. He spoke in a low, emotionless whisper.

"Check."

"Check." Schaal surprised Bond with this move – Bond had been expecting him to push the bet as fiercely as he could. But then perhaps his intention was to catch Bond off-guard, so as to disrupt his focus and method within the game. Well, Bond would be damned if he would let that happen.

"Check."

"Check."

The first round was over and not a single bet had been placed. Bond had not expected this, though he suspected it had been a heavily tactical move on Vagason's part. Perhaps a double bluff, Vagason's attempt to hide a weak hand by playing it honestly, in the hope that the other players would mistake it for a bluff on a strong hand. Whatever cards he held, the next round would start to determine their true value to him – even the worst pair of hole cards could make a full house.

Three cards were spread across the centre of the table then quickly rearranged into descending order. The Ace of Clubs and the King and Queen of Diamonds. Bond didn't so much as glance at Vagason as he made his bet – he didn't need to. Vagason was a professional and would not betray his motives with some obvious tell or flicker of emotion. Instead, Bond thought only about his opponent's decision.

"Three billion."

He had ten billion in total and this move as good as confirmed to Bond that Vagason did indeed have a weak hand. Had he had a truly strong hand he would have placed a higher bet or maintained his bluff of checking. Schaal must have come to the same conclusion, because his next move was to slowly begin the attack on Vagason. He did not speak, only pushed the plaques forwards.

"Raise – six billion," announced the dealer.

"Call." said Jono, though only after a hesitant pause.

"Call."

The bet returned to Vagason.

"Call." He threw forward the plaques and chips to make up the six billion pound bet.

Bond had fifteen – now nine – billion in total, as did Schaal, while both Vagason and Jono had started this round with ten. The night had been long and weary and now all four men were determined to end it. Bond had seen it before – the hard-set drive for victory, for the end, in each man's eyes, forbidding the game to continue for one more hand. It ended here.

The Turn was dealt – the Seven of Diamonds.

"One billion." said Vagason.

"Raise." Schaal was playing a dangerous game. "Three billion."

If they matched the bet, Vagason and Jono would be left with only one billion each.

"Call." Jono snapped, pushing his bet forwards.

"Call." said Bond.

Vagason was silent, staring into the small pile of plastic he still had. He had assumed the demeanour of a condemned man. Finally, he conceded.

"Call."

He made the bet.

The air stiffened. Time slowed.

This was it.

The final card of what must prove to be the final hand. The card's identity was almost irrelevant – the bet was inevitable. Fifty billion pounds all rested on this hand.

The River was dealt.

The dealer slid it slowly into place with the other four cards. Bond made sure to lock every muscle, every feature, into place before looking – he could not risk showing even the slightest bit of emotion now.

The card was the Ace of Spades.

Silence. The eager spectators, the dealer, the nearby croupier and the four warriors did not make a single sound. All attention was on Vagason.

Bond wondered for a moment whether Vagason would accept the inevitable now or delay it for as long as he could.

He did not delay.

"One billion. All in."

"Six billion." declared Schaal. "All in."

"One billion. All in." Jono's voice was little more than a whisper.

Bond felt Leiter's and Katrina's eyes on him, unblinking watching his every move in anxiety. But Bond knew exactly what he was doing.

"Six billion." His cold blue-grey eyes met with Schaal's. "All in."

The end started with Vagason as he confirmed the weak hand Bond had suspected from the start – a two and a six. Nothing.

Next there came Schaal. He slowly pushed his two cards forward, lifted them and flipped them over, back onto the table.

Two black Kings.

With the King and the two Aces that were already there, that made a high full house. It was a strong hand, drawing a few claps from the spectators. Bond saw Leiter biting nervously down on his lip, Katrina now peering out from between her fingers. The odds were now so strongly in Schaal's favour it seemed impossible for him to lose.

"Full house – Kings full of Aces." said the dealer.

Jono quickly flipped his cards over – two Jacks, making two pairs. It was not enough to defeat Schaal's full house.

Everyone in the room looked to Bond. The odds were suddenly meaningless. This was a duel – the final battle between Bond and Schaal. Schaal was sat atop his tower, victorious, a winner at all costs. To him, Bond was only a desperate fool, making pathetic attempts to escape inevitable defeat.

Bond loosely gripped the two cards, lifting them ever-so-slightly above the table.

Everyone watched as he turned them over and let them fall to the green velvet surface.

Staring up at the spectators and at the players were two red Aces.

Silence. Then…

"Four of a kind, Aces." The dealer's voice seemed quieter than before, yet it was the only noise in the room. "Mr Bond wins."

The applause started slowly, quietly, being drawn free from the state of shock that covered the crowd. Soon it had broken into a loud chorus of claps and exclamations of surprise as Bond's winnings were passed to him.

Bond turned to the croupier who was stood a short distance behind him.

"Have this cashed, please."

"Certainly, _monsieur._"

Bond handed a plaque to the croupier and then one to the dealer, as thanks. He then stood up, looking towards Leiter. It was good to see a friend's face amongst the crowd of the unfamiliar.

As Bond got to his feet, a spectator stood behind Vagason suddenly brought his arm up. In his hand he held a small, sleek, black gun, which was aimed directly at Bond. The man must have had it aimed at Vagason before, forcing him to surrender the last hand.

The applause had suddenly stopped. Screams of fear and panic took its place. Spectators hurried to leave, breaking free of the crowd. Many remained – some MI6 or CIA, others not so friendly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to need your fifty billion pounds, Mr Bond." came the deep, threatening voice of Jono.

"How did your friend over there get his gun past the metal detector?" Bond asked, ignoring the request.

"Tricking a metal detector is not the most difficult task I've ever been faced with."

"That's funny," said Bond. "Me neither."

His hand was suddenly on his Walther PPK, aiming it squarely at Jono's head. Behind the railing, Felix Leiter drew his own gun out from within his jacket and aimed it at Jono's gunman.

There was more movement amongst the other spectators, people trying to get away before things turned nasty. Vagason seized the moment. He got up from his seat and ran quickly for the exit.

"Mr Vagason!" The call came from an older man within the spectators' circle. "I'm afraid I can't let you just run away when you have lost our organisation all that money."

Vagason froze, visibly shaking. Bond held his position against Jono – if he moved then he removed the risk of even accidentally killing him and Jono's men may not hesitate to shoot.

The older man amongst the spectators pulled his own gun out from within his jacket and took aim on Vagason.

"I'll deal with you as soon as I'm done here, Mr Bond." said the man. He fired once. Vagason dropped down and suddenly there were two more shots from within the spectators. They had been aimed at Vagason's killer and they had hit. The man dropped down, screams broke out, more guns emerged within the crowd as people rushed in all directions, some trying to escape, some trying to reach their targets.

Bond took his chance. He dropped, quickly, hitting the floor as chaos tore through the air above – screams formed a constant curtain of noise, broken every few seconds by gunfire. Pushing against the carpet, Bond rolled over to the railing. The bars were too close together to squeeze through and he would have to put himself in full view of any gunmen to escape. He made sure to do it quickly.

Leaping to his feet, Bond grabbed the top of the railing. In a second he had flung himself over and into the crowd of assassins and agents. He pushed his way past and vaulted for the casino exit, aware of footsteps following close behind him.

Turning back down the corridor that had led him into the casino, Bond ran through the metal detector and along the narrow passage. As he ran, he glanced over his shoulder – Jono was following him, his fist clamped around a large black gun.

Bond ran into the lobby, turned to the receptionist's desk and threw himself over it. He landed crouched behind the broad wooden desk, the sound of Jono's gunshots blaring out on the other side.

"Face me, Bond! You can't hide forever!"

Bond brought his PPK up to eye level. He braced himself, forced himself to count to ten before he did anything.

Another of Jono's shots rang out. As soon as it had done, Bond was on his feet, gun held out, finger squeezing the trigger. Three shots. Jono fell.

Bond had only just holstered his gun and climbed back over the desk when Leiter ran into the lobby. Behind him some distant clatter was still just audible from within the casino. Leiter looked from Bond to Jono's body and back to Bond.

"Three shots? Well we know he's not getting back up."

"I'll bet he didn't see that on the cards." said Bond.

"James, you need to get out of here. It's turning into a bloodbath, they all want the money."

"It should have been transferred to a secure account by now."

"Yes, but that won't stop them trying to make you pay up."

"Okay. Try to grab Schaal – SPECTRE won't want him now; he might be willing to give us some information in return for sanctuary." Bond turned towards the door and quickly headed over to it. He walked straight out, down the steps and into the cool night air. He took a deep breath as he walked through the car park. It was over. Hours ago he had walked in through those doors, prepared for a gruelling psychological battle and now he had overcome it and was walking away victorious.

A metallic click sounded behind him, accompanied by the feeling of cold hard metal being pushed into the back of his neck.

"The account number, please, Mr Bond." said Quentin Schaal.


	10. The Spectre Of Defeat

Bond raised his hands, feeling like an idiot. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of victory he had taken no notice of his surroundings, hadn't checked for any danger. And now this whole bloody mission could turn out to be for nothing.

"Put the gun down, Schaal. You kill me and you've got no chance of getting that account number – how will SPECTRE react then?"

"The gun is only for if you absolutely refuse to tell me – at least I can take some small amount of personal solace in knowing I killed the man who condemned me." Schaal's voice was breathy and shaking. He was at the end of his rope, desperately trying to avoid death at the hand of his officials. "Tell me, Mr Bond, would you honestly rather die for some misplaced sense of honour and patriotism than live and say you failed one mission."

"You might as well shoot me now." said Bond, unflinching.

"Very well." The gun was trembling on the back of Bond's neck. Schaal drew a few unsteady breaths in. "Take one step forward and turn to face me, Mr Bond – I want to look into your eyes as you die."

"That's the problem with personal vendettas," said Bond, stepping forwards. "They do fill you with such stupid ideas."

He turned, quickly, bringing his hands down on the gun and pulling it from Schaal's grip. Bond backed away quickly, keeping the gun trained on Schaal.

"Go ahead, then, 007. Shoot me down. It will be a much less painful death than anything SPECTRE would do. And when the CCTV footage is reviewed, you'll be seen killing an unarmed prisoner. So go on, shoot and see what good does it you."

Bond hesitated. He had no need to kill him. He had completed his mission, the money was safe and Schaal had been reduced to mad desperation – he was no longer a threat. Bond lowered the gun and threw it aside.

"SPECTRE will deal with you." he said flatly, looking at Schaal with disgust. "I'm sure there's nowhere on Earth you can hide from them now."

There was silence for a second. Then one single gunshot blared out. Schaal fell down like a rag doll, his eyes suddenly vacant and staring into nothing. A small trail of thick dark red blood trickled from a neat hole in the side of his head.

Bond looked up from the body. Stood a short distance away was Katrina Luxure, a gun held in her outstretched hand.

"Katrina?" Bond murmured.

"He was a dead man anyway." She said in a quiet, but strong, voice. "If he had to die, I wanted to do it – for everything he did to me."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Whoever it is you work for, James – can they help me? Did you mean that?"

"Yes." said Bond. "And I should imagine they'll be able to help you out of doing any prison time for this too. But even so, we should make sure you're as far away from here as possible before they start checking the CCTV."

"I – I – I don't know where to go…"

"I'm sure I can help you with that." said Bond and he led her to the Bentley. Tomorrow he would wake up back in England with his mission complete and Katrina in his arms. He was the winner and he had taken all he could have wanted.


End file.
